Last Call For Love
by Poetic.blue
Summary: "It is never too late to be who you might have been." - George Eliot. But after ten years? He thinks it just might be too late. Rated T for drinking and cursing. Seddie. FutureFic.
1. That Voice

**Title: Last Call For Love**

**Summary: "It is never too late to be who you might have been." - George Eliot**

**AN: Hey there. Don't know why this idea popped into my head, but it demanded it be written, I really hope everyone likes it. This is going to be a three-shot.**

**1) Sam-centric**

**2) Freddie-centric**

**3) Both.**

**Each part will be exactly a thousand words, and the last 2,000.**

She never liked to look into her past. It was too painful. Why should she bother herself by thinking about him and the life she left behind? She had left for a reason. The whole damn thing was too hard.

But tonight? Tonight an old picture and more than her fair share of a bottle of wine had her spiraling backward, playing a very dangerous game of 'what if?' She wondered why they had broken up. It made no sense, they loved each other. So why had she agreed and walked out of that elevator? What if she hadn't? What if she had refused the break up, said she didn't want to because dammit, she loved him and couldn't stand the thought of being without him?

She supposed they would have stayed together. Maybe gotten married, had children. Maybe she wouldn't be sitting on the floor of an apartment she couldn't afford that she knew she'd have to leave next month when her check bounced. Maybe she wouldn't be drowning her sorrows in a cheap bottle of wine. Maybe she wouldn't have to speculate.

Maybe she'd be happy.

She closed her eyes. Why was she doing this? Nostalgia wasn't her friend. Memories in general had always let her down. She wondered if he ever thought of her. She was sure he did. Although, she didn't think it was the same way she thought of him.

She thought of their good moments. Ones where they got along, laughed together. Where they were _happy. _At least, she did when she _allowed _herself to think of those things. When her heart took over, did what it wanted, _that's _when she thought of all the pain, all the stupid fights. The elevator. _That's _when she sometimes did stupid things.

Usually they involved calling Carly, or paying a visit to his SplashFace page, or sometimes (when she had been good for at least a few months), she hacked his email.

However, the picture had done more damage than anything else had. Ever. In it, they were seventeen, hanging out at the mall. They were sitting in front of the water fountain, holding hands, something rare for them to do in public. She had her head on his shoulder, which only made it more cutesy. Carly, being the girl she was, thought it was the most adorable thing ever, and took a picture, despite their protests. But they were still grinning ear to ear, unable to be angry when hanging all over the person they loved. Carly had given it to her best friend, telling her that someday, when they're all old and married, they'd look back on that picture with the same smiles.

But it had been a decade. They were older, not married, and she wasn't smiling.

The picture had sparked the drinking, which opened the floodgates to memories, which only made her drink more. Before she knew it, she had her phone in her hand, and was dialing the still familiar number she had deleted so long again. She still knew it by heart. It rang twice, and then picked up.

"H-hello?" his voice was unsure, confused. Did he know it was her? Was her number still in his phone? Is that what confused him? After a decade of not speaking to him, ignoring his calls, texts, and, in the very beginning, a few knocks on her door, why would she call?

She had no idea. She couldn't think, not really. The small part of her brain not intoxicated by the alcohol in her system had gone drunk at the sound of his voice. A few decibels deeper than last time, still smooth, still the only thing that could stop her in her tracks. Just hearing him… it brought back even more memories, good ones, ones a tad more x-rated. She remembered how when he whispered, his voice hardly changed, and when that whisper touched her skin, she could never fight back shivers. How when he laughed, a deep throaty chuckle, everything went right with the world, no matter wrong things had been. How everyone said he couldn't sing, but when he sang to her, at night while they were drifting off to sleep, she never thought she had heard a more beautiful sound.

"S-Sam? Is that you?" her heart, not to mention her stomach, flipped once, halted, then kept a steadily increasing rhythm.

"Hello?"

She stayed silent, afraid. This was not funny drunk Sam he was trying to get to talk. No, this was vulnerable, broken Sam, and he knew it. Her silence spoke volumes.

"I know you're there. You might as well talk to me."

She still couldn't speak. Why the _hell _had she called him? She knew there was a reason, there had to be.

"Sam." his voice changed, he was being more stern than sexy, but it still made her wish she could go back into the past and shove herself back in that elevator.

"I miss you." the words came out a strangled whisper, and she wiped away tears harshly.

"Sam…" softer now, but thicker.

"What did we do?" she cried, but she wasn't speaking to him, more to herself.

"Screwed up." he answered darkly, and her tears became sobs.

That tiny portion suddenly recovered, and seemed horrified at what she was doing. _Calling him. _The worst thing she could possibly do. Angrily, the tiny portion took over, chucked her phone against the wall.

"_Sam?" _she could still hear him. She clapped her hands over her ears, trying to block him out.

But still his voice made it through. _"Are you ok?"_

No, no she wasn't. She was falling apart, and he was to blame. But she couldn't say that. So she just laid in the fetal position until sweet, blissful sleep took his voice and real life away.

She dreamed of him. That voice, telling her he loved her just one more time.

But when she woke, the memory- of the entire _screwed up _night- was gone.


	2. Eight Hours

**I'd like to get the next chapter done by the end of the weekend, but that's only if I have time…**

**This is Freddie's chapter; I hope I've done him justice.**

**I forgot last time. I don't own iCarly.**

He had always been one for romance. He couldn't help it; it was how his mother had raised him. He believed that love always prevailed, and everyone went Home with a happily ever after.

At least, he used to.

That was before _her, _before she walked away, before he let her.

In the beginning, when he realized what a mistake they made, he tried. He went to her apartment when she wouldn't answer his phone calls. He waited outside her door for days. After a week, when she still wouldn't answer, he gave up on that. But he didn't stop calling and texting. He wanted her back; couldn't she just let him talk to her? Pretty soon, he gave up on that too. She wasn't going to talk to him.

He moved out to the east coast, finding an apartment in Connecticut. Every year, for the next eight years he'd call her on what he still thought of as their anniversary.

But she never answered.

He had almost given up completely. Even thought about not calling. She had apparently forgotten him, or at least buried the memories deep enough.

Then she called him.

Her number had always stayed in his phone, not that it mattered. He had it memorized.

"H-hello?" he answered, voice catching. Why was she calling? _Was _she calling? Or was it just a coincidence, a joke the universe was playing on him. Maybe she had gotten rid of her phone, changed her number.

She said nothing.

"S-Sam? Is that you?" he didn't know what he was hoping for. Part of him wanted it to be her, so maybe everything could be ok. Maybe it was his second chance. The other part was afraid that he would be hurt again. Without her in his life, he was safe. Incomplete, but safe.

"Hello?" he needed to know. The wondering hurt worse than anything he could imagine. To think that she might be so close, listening to him, but saying nothing, a smirk on her face. That's probably what this was. A stupid joke she was making, toying with his feelings, like she had always done. Yes, this was definitely her.

The thought made him angry. He let it seep into his voice "I know you're there. You might as well talk to me."

Still nothing. What the hell _was _this? Why wouldn't she speak? Was this just _so damn funny _to her that she _couldn't _speak?

"Sam." His voice was sharper than he intended. He felt bad for a half second, before the anger reminded him. He was the butt of her joke, again. She deserves an edge.

"_I miss you." _the words, full of tears and pain, threw cold water on him. This… this wasn't what he thought. He thought she might be drunk, but…why?

"Sam?" he could hear the heartbreak in his own voice, thought maybe a drink was a good idea.

"What did we do?" she was speaking (sobbing) more to herself, he knew, but he answered anyway.

"Screwed up." he'd been wanting to tell her that for a long time.

She sobbed louder for a second, then there was a bang. _Whatthehell?_ It was all one word in his brain.

"Sam!" he shouted. What happened? What did she do? "Are you ok?" he screamed it louder; he didn't care about his upstairs neighbor's issue with noise.

He didn't hear anything. He kept shouting to her, but he knew it was no use. He tapped speakerphone-just in case- and threw his phone on the couch.

He didn't bother with proper packing; just threw a couple pairs of jeans, boxers, and a few t-shirts, one of which was her favorite (Purple-Jerk), into an old drawstring backpack. He threw the bag on the couch, grabbing his phone at the same time. Back to the home-screen. He was going to find her, maybe get her back, as long as that bang …he didn't let himself think it.

He fell into his computer chair, knowing exactly how to find her. The Pear site loaded much too slowly in his mind, although it was only a second. He typed in Sam's number, typed what he thought was her password.

Denied.

His mind filed through options, ideas, anything. On a slightly egotistical whim, he typed his own name.

Granted.

As he clicked through to 'locate', his leg shook impatiently. Every second longer this took, God only knew what was happening.

San Francisco, _California? _If he wasn't so tense, he might have laughed.

Quickly, he Zaplooked the next possible flight to California. He took note of the airport, grabbed his phone and bag, and left, not bothering to lock his door. He wasn't leaving anything important behind.

He spent the next 8 hours almost in a panic. He called Sam at least a dozen times, not even expecting an answer. He called Carly, hoping maybe she had heard from her best friend.

"Not recently. Why?" but he hung up.

He bought his ticket at the last minute, earning a disapproving look from the woman at the counter. He had one carry on, his bag, and no luggage.

When he landed, he wasn't even out of the airport before using his phone to go online and find exactly where she was. He grabbed a taxi that charged way too much and fed the driver her address.

The building was not what he expected, lofty, expensive. He knew there was no way she could afford it; she'd never been exactly _great _with money.

He asked the doorman for her apartment, found himself in an elevator to the eighth floor, a severe case of déjà vu spinning his mind.

He knocked on the door to 8D, scared when there was no immediate answer. He rang the doorbell, a prayer starting to form on his lips.

"Knock it off." a voice inside growled. "I've got a hangover from hell." the door opened, and she just stood there, more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

"Hey, Sam."


	3. Last Call

**And this is the end. Sorry it's taken me awhile, I've just had a bit of a block, and no time, honestly. I've had the very last part in my head since the beginning, it's part of what inspired the story.**

**Please, drop a review, I could use a smile right about now.**

He'd shown up at her door not 10 hours after they had spoken on the phone and she had revealed exactly what he had been feeling for 10 years. He greeted her with a poorly thought out "Hey, Sam."

And she said nothing.

Not one word.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Possibly tears, possibly anger, or (and he only allowed himself to think it now that he knew she was fine) even possibly dead. But not silence.

Not a girl who simply walked away from him, leaving the door open, maybe an invitation, maybe just not caring anymore. He took it as the former, stepping into the bare apartment and shutting the door behind himself.

"Sam?" he called, his voice echoing in the empty space. She had disappeared, he assumed to the kitchen, wherever it was. "Sam?"

She suddenly reappeared, a bottle of something clear, but definitely not water, in hand. "Where the hell do you get off comin' here, huh? What is this?" she was already showing the effects of what was in her bottle.

"I just came…" he paused, took a breath. "I came to make sure you were ok."

"Oh yeah! I'm just fine and goddamn dandy! Life is just a basket of roses." Now she paused, staring at him while taking a swig of her drink. "What what make you think otherwise?"

"Stop it." he stepped forward, reaching out to grab the bottle from her. "Can't we have one conversation where you're not drunk off your ass?"

"No." she answered simply, snatching back the bottle.

"Sam," gently, he pried the bottle from her hands and set it at the floor at his feet. "I also came here to talk to you. I know it's about ten years overdue, but..." She cut him off, not with words, but with a shove past him, toward the closed door. "Where are you going?"

"Out." Even the single word was unsteady, echoed by the slamming of the door. Without stopping to think, he went after her (maybe he was making up for when he didn't.). He glanced around the hallway; she was gone. Disappeared to God knows where, like she always did.

It crossed his mind to give up. Why should he keep trying? She didn't want him- that much was clear. Maybe he ought to just leave her in her misery; after all, she was choosing it for herself. Why was it his business?

The answer showed itself almost as soon as the question ended. He loved her.

Duh.

He tried to think of where an already drunk Sam would go when avoiding him. _California, apparently. _He thought wryly, stepping on to the elevator.

The elevator.

The memories he'd been avoiding came rushing back, and he held back tears. This was all so messed up. They shouldn't be in California. Or, maybe they should, but they shouldn't be angry, but rather, spending a second honeymoon... It shouldn't be like this.

Dammit, it was so hard! H knew what he wanted, thought he knew what she wanted. So why couldn't they just sit and talk about it? It could lead to them being together, being happy. But it could also lead to the official end of their friendship. He still always thought of her has one of his best friends, even after ten years.

It was all so confusing. As upset as he'd been, he could admit he saw an appeal in having a drink right now. Besides, if he got a drink, it might give her a little time to cool down. She needed it. Hell, if he was being honest, he needed a little time too. It had all happened so fast… What the hell? It was California after all.

He made a quick search for the nearest bar to the building, finding it was only a half-block away. How had he not noticed when he got here?

Reaching the lobby, he nodded at the polite doorman (maybe it wasn't so much like Bushwell.) and left, taking a right out of the building toward the bar. It was called Puzzles, and looked just like a typical bar. Except, it wasn't. It would be the only bar that at eleven o'clock in the morning would contain Freddie Benson. He ordered a beer nervously, retreating to a dark corner. Maybe he could sort things out in his head. He slid into the booth, taken by surprise at how soft the leather was. Cushiony, too. Almost like… a bed.

And once the thought of a bed entered his mind, the weight of having been awake for at least 24 hours hit him. Hard. _I'll just lay here for a minute… _he thought, and promptly fell asleep. It would be hours before he was woken up by the very girl he had been dreaming about.

"The hell? Freddie…Is that... Is that you?" she began to shake him, and he shot up.

"I'm not sleeping!"

"Uh, yeah, you were." she laughed.

"Sam?" he rubbed his eyes, both trying to wipe away the sleep and wondering if the girl in front of him was real. "What are you doing here? What time is it?"

"I came to get a drink." she slid across from him. "Or several. And it's almost ten."

"PM?" it was all starting to come back to him. He was in California, trying to win her back. But… she hated him again. Why was she talking to him?"

"PM." She confirmed. "Now, we both know drinking is nothing new for me. The question is what are _you _doing here?"

"I thought I'd give it a shot." he joked weakly. He glanced at his forgotten, untouched beer. He started to reach toward it, but she stopped him

"Uh-uh. Flat as crap. Here," she placed a half-finished beer in front of him. "You can have the rest of mine. I'll get another." she started to slide away.

"No, wait. Don't go.

"Freddie, if you were any good at stopping me from leaving, we wouldn't be here." she grabbed his old drink and walked away, he could only hope she'd come back. Thank God, she did, two more beers in tow. "So." she said, taking a swig of one of them. "Wanna tell me why the _hell _you're in California?"

"I wanted to come find you. I love you, Sam. And I'm tired of living without you."

"It's too late for that now."

"It's never too late."

"Yes it is. Besides, you're fine without me. Probably better, actually." she stared down at the weathered wooden table.

"What happened to us? We were…we were meant to be. But look at us now."

"I don't know. One day everything was fine, and the next everything went to shit."

"Wait, I know what happened. You left."

"No, you let me."

They were both quiet. After a few moments, he began to speak.

"Why now?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"No, you can't. I came now because _you _called me, and I was scared you had…" he trailed off. "Never mind. But the point is, _you're _the one picked now out of the air. So I repeat: Why now?"

She said nothing, just pulled a picture out of her back pocket. "Here." she slid it across the table.

His breath caught when he saw it. Saw them. They had been so happy. But that fell apart, not six months after the photo was taken.

"I remember this." he couldn't help the smile. "That was the same day we got…" he touched the spot under his shirt where the cross still hung. It was a bit unorthodox, but they didn't mind. Instead of getting promise rings, or purity rings, they bought matching crosses, a reminder to both to stay faithful to each- other, and God.

He had. Whether she had too, or not, he didn't know. But he wasn't going to ask.

"I know." she touched her own shirt, signaling she still had hers.

They were quiet again, both lost in their own thoughts.

After a moment, she broke the silence. "Did you really mean what you said? That we had screwed up?"

He swallowed. "Yeah, I did." he said hoarsely. They wouldn't look at each other, it made things more real.

She leaned her head against the back of the booth, closing her eyes. Damn him. "We did screw up, didn't we? We were in love. Why didn't we think it was enough?"

"Believe it or not, I know the answer." His eyes drifted up, to her face.

She sat forward, opening her eyes and meeting his gaze. "Do you now?"

"Yeah. It was because we tried to be what we weren't. Perfect. With all the crap we went through to be together, neither of us wanted to mess it up. We had all this pressure, and in trying to keep our relationship from caving in, we let ourselves as individuals crumble. And we thought that since that had happened, what was the point? We weren't really happy anymore. We weren't Sam and Freddie. We were Seddie. And that's what really got us. We didn't think we were good enough to be that."

She was stunned. Yes, he was smart. Yes, he often talked funny and made her want to punch him. But it had to be the most profound thing she had ever heard him, or anyone, for that matter, say. "That's it. That's exactly it." she leaned back again, but kept her eyes open, cast toward the ceiling. "Why were we so stupid? Why did we care so much about everyone else?"

He shrugged. "We were seventeen. We didn't know any better."

"God, I wish we had."

"Me too."

"Can I… Can I say something? You know, without you hurting me after?" she didn't laugh, only nodded. "It's almost…funny."

Her head snapped forward."Funny?" she hissed, voice cold as ice.

"Yeah. We let striving for what we thought was perfection ruin something that _was _perfect in its own way. We balanced each other out, and before we started to worry, we were happy. At least, I was." he sighed. "I was so in love with you. Well, I still am, but that's not what we're talking about now."

She took a minute before she spoke. "I was happy too. We may have fought, but…. the make-ups were worth it."

He chuckled. "Got that right."

"And I am too."

"You…"

"But it doesn't matter. We're different people now. We've got different lives. Tomorrow morning you're gonna get on a plane and go back to Connecticut, and I'm gonna go back to… well, not much. But still. We missed our chance. The more I think about it, I start to think that maybe it's too late for us."

"It's never too late.

"Freddie…"

"I'm serious. You and I are meant to be. I wish it hadn't taken so long to figure it out again, but at least we did."

"No we didn't. Meant to be and all that fate crap…. it's just that. Crap. It doesn't mean anything. I've already lost you once. I don't want to go through that again." Why couldn't he see it?

"Maybe we wouldn't. We'll never know if we don't try. C'mon Sam. Take this chance on us."

She slid out of the booth, frustrated. I can't do this right now!" she shouted.

They stared at one another, both pairs of eyes pretty cold. His a little warmer, heated with hope.

"Last call." the bartender's voice interrupted the tenseness of the moment.

Freddie glanced at his watch. "Aww, crap. It's one thirty. I just… came out here. I didn't think. I've got no place to stay, and it's too late to get a hotel." He looked up at her worriedly. "What am I gonna do?"

She swallowed hard, and held out her hand. "It's never too late, Freddie. You can stay with me."

With a smile, he took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers.

It's never too late for love.


End file.
